


White Knight

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death In Dream, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Precognition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake has a vivid dream that makes him reassess his priorities- in particular his priorities towards Avon. Avon doesn't mind too much, until he realizes Blake isn't satisfied with sex, but wants something permanent.</p><p>The resulting conflict makes matters between them worse than before. Avon wants to leave the Liberator. Blake isn't prepared to give him up without making every effort to convince him to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this fairly early fanfic (was published in Fire and Ice IV in 1998, so probably written in 1997) because there are various characterizations and things I did in this fic, that I wouldn't write now. But taking them out would make the story not work at all.
> 
> A reader requested some of my older B7 be saved on AO3 for posterity, so here it is- a historical artefact.
> 
> Please be gentle with this geriatric fic, kind readers. There's no need to point out its flaws- I know them. :^)

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Blake's head ached. He couldn't remember what had happened but he had a feeling it was something bad. It was cold, bitterly cold; his breath fogged the air before him and froze in the curls of the shaggy beard he now had. He was wearing only a sort of padded undergarment of white wool and a pair of soft leather slippers. He was standing on the edge of a plowed, ice-rimed field. Across the field he could see his enemy, a man hidden behind a blank black shield. The man sat on a huge horse, a pale, ash-colored beast that stood as still as death.

He knew it was his enemy, although the man made no gesture and said nothing. He started forward, determined to destroy the evil that awaited him, but the gelid mud quickly turned his slippers into misshapen lumps, binding him to the earth. He cursed and struggled, but to no avail. He looked behind him. There were people, his followers; dim, shadowy figures that hesitated to follow. "Help me!" he cried, but the people wavered and cringed; flotsam on the tide, they could do nothing on their own. Like the black knight, they were silent. In all the field, he could only hear himself, and overhead the harsh calls of carrion crows, drawn to the field with the sly foreknowledge of their kind.

He shouted, "Help me, I must defeat him. Cowards, cowards!" but in his heart he knew they were not to blame. He had promised to lead them and it was his failing that jeopardized them all. He turned back. The black knight was moving now, ponderously approaching, the horse's immense feet sinking deep into the mud with each slow, measured stride, until it was coated in the reddish soil as if booted in blood. Blake's own feet were similarly marked.

"Please, someone, help me. I must defeat him. I must!"

"At any cost?" came a voice behind him.

Blake whirled, almost falling into the mud. There was another man there, not one of his own, and not one of the enemy. The man wore a thick brown cape with a heavy monk's cowl pulled forward to completely hide his face. His voice was thin and reedy, annoying, but impossible to ignore.

"Who are you?"

"I am one who can give you the victory. If you are willing to pay the price."

"Any price." Blake heard the heavy horse coming closer. "My life, all that I have, and am. Anything. Only so that my people will be rid of this evil."

The hooded man nodded. "You will have your desire. But you may decide it is not worth the cost."

Blake shook his head. "There is nothing I would not sacrifice to destroy that man and all he represents."

"But what if he represents something within you as well?"

"I am not like him!" Blake roared. "He is evil."

"And you are good." The monk lifted an arm and waved. For an instant the cloak shifted revealing the arm beneath. It was dead white, and thin, impossibly thin. It looked skeletal, but Blake refused that image. Why would Death deal with him?

"Come forward, then. Blake has need of you." The monk beckoned, and the crowd parted, letting five people come forward. They walked as if mesmerized, but for all of that, there was a vitality, a reality, to them that was lacking in Blake's other people.

"I can change them, mold them to your needs, to make you an irresistible force. If it is your wish."

"Do it." What were five people, six counting himself, against the multitudes now enslaved and suffering? These were his people; they had come to help, and they should be glad of the chance, as he was glad of his chance, to die for Freedom.

The monk's hand moved, and the largest of the five, a man with the broad face of a farmer and the calm eyes of a philosopher, shimmered and warped before Blake, transforming into a man of metal- no, not a man, a suit of white-steel armor. The armor disappeared, and Blake felt suddenly heavier, yet stronger. His vision was reduced to a series of slits. He realized he was now sheathed in the armor that had been that man. It felt good, like having a trusty friend beside him.

Again the monk gestured, and the beautiful golden-maned woman melted and reformed into a golden shield weighting down his left arm. He sensed the protective spirit within, and was well satisfied.

A third time that bony arm moved, and the other woman wavered, to return as a sword in Blake's right hand, mirror-bright metal etched with runic sayings. He studied the sword, knowing there was wisdom in the symbols, but he could not decipher them. No matter, it was a fine sword, that was enough for him.

There were only two men left. The taller, darker one shifted suddenly, trying to evade the monk. "No," he said, voice crystal clear, and just as brittle. "It is not right. No," the man said, protesting. Blake was annoyed. The battle was nearly upon them; he had no time to argue with anyone, least of all one who should help him.

The monk touched the dark-haired man. This transformation took longer, as if the man fought it. Even when it was complete Blake knew he had not achieved the unity with this man that he had with the others. What had been a defiant man was now an animal, a stallion as tall and heavy as the black knight's beast, but more graceful. It was jet black, gleaming in the dull winter sun, strong boned and lithe, with a man's soul still behind those deep-set, dark brown eyes. Blake stretched out his hand, and the horse shied, trembling, but did not move far, as if tethered to Blake by invisible bonds.

The last man moved closer to the horse, his face showing his fear. He was also afraid of Blake, afraid to fight, but without the defiance of the other. The horse permitted him near, keeping a watchful eye on Blake.

The monk waved a final time, and the timid man fell across the horse's back, arms reaching upward, to the animal's neck. He flowed like water, no, like quicksilver, faster than the eye could follow, becoming a silver- white battle harness, complete with bridle and saddle.

The horse shivered all over, then stood, head drooping slightly. Blake approached, regretting having broken the stallion's spirit, but it raised its head and bared its long teeth at him. It had given in to fate, but would not tamely accept it. Blake grinned behind his visor, and mounted the stallion, instinctively knowing how to control and guide this wild, untamed beast.

He made the horse rear, and it lashed out with its forefeet, screaming its rage at the world, turning its anger at Blake to hatred of the enemy. He kicked it forward into a run, shouting for his people to follow. In the helmet and armor he was safe, but he could not turn to see if they obeyed. He did not need them. He was complete now. He could save them all by himself.

The black knight met him in mid-field. The other had a lance, while Blake had only a sword. Blake raised his shield and the lance struck and shattered against the golden shield, denting and marring the perfection of its surface. He didn't notice. The shield was still strong, it still served him well. His sword flashed, seeking a weakness in the other's armor, but he could find none. His sword came against the blank shield and was blunted, and dulled, but Blake's arm was powerful enough that he had no need of the razor-keen edge it once possessed.

Behind the black knight appeared the shadows of others like it, inhuman and impersonal, but all afoot and unarmed, on even terms with Blake's followers. About the two knights the footmen swarmed, grappling and wrestling in deadly silence.

Blake's stallion fought of its own accord, while the black knight had to beat and spur his mount to gain obedience. Blake was sure he would win. He had right on his side, his gear was of the finest, and his horse was worth another knight all by itself. But the black knight never faltered, never reacted to any injury, and always had another weapon. When Blake beat down its sword, the black clad arm held a mace, when the mace was destroyed, it had a pike, when the pike shaft splintered, it produced a crossbow.

Blake's armor was battered and rent, but he was never wounded. His horse was a larger target, and somehow it always managed to be between Blake and whatever weapon the black knight wielded. Filled with righteous indignation, he felt no weariness, no fear, no pain. He knew he had only to defeat the black knight and all would be right with the world. He would be a hero, and everyone would love him. He would never be alone, never friendless and desperate again.

He struck with all his strength, and the black knight toppled from its high cantled saddle, landing with a strange hollow clang. Blake leapt off his stallion to make sure of the kill, sweeping off the helmet of the fallen warrior. There was nothing within, no face, no head. He picked up the armor, finding it light as dried leaves, and flung it away with a curse. Behind him, he heard horrid laughter, a many-toned scratching sound like millions of maggots slithering against each other as they jostled for position on a corpse. He looked up. The black knight's charger stood there, unmarked, and laughed at him, its long teeth dagger sharp, its eyes glowing red with hellfire. "A new knight," it called. And one of the black shadows solidified and marched forward to mount the ash-gray horse.

Blake had destroyed a meaningless shadow. He had to kill the horse. Now he saw that. He mounted his horse, ignoring the harsh sobbing breaths it took, and reached for his sword, but found a shattered hilt in his scabbard. His shield was split and useless, so he threw it at the enemy. The gray horse lifted a foot, to crush the gleaming remnant into the mud.

Suddenly wild beyond any reasoning, Blake kicked his horse forward. If only he could close with the enemy, he would destroy it with his bare hands. His stallion lurched forward, staggered, and as Blake kicked it once more, suddenly reared with a bone-chilling scream and flung him off to land in the bloody mud alongside the hollow armor. He looked up at his faithful companion, shocked by the betrayal, and saw agony and madness in its eyes. It had been shot many times by the cross-bow bolts, slashed, stabbed and beaten, and he had never noticed, never seen its pain. The horse staggered, whirling to bite at a bolt embedded deep within its side, and kicked Blake in the belly. He groaned, feeling suddenly as hollow and liquid inside as the empty armor, slowly filling with mud. 

The horse lifted its head, and the glazing eyes suddenly cleared and saw him. Deliberately, it lifted its leaden legs and came to him, standing over him stiff-legged. It stared into his face for a long moment, then the proud head lifted and it gave a stallion's scream of defiance.

The shadows came then, swarming over the black horse, covering it entirely. It made a soft, almost human sound of despair, and fell, crushing Blake beneath its body. He realized the horse had saved him from a worse end, as he heard the creatures above him worrying at the living flesh of the helpless stallion.

The sound of carrion crows was loud, raucous as they fed. Too loud. Dying, trapped beneath his horse, Blake should not have been able to hear them.But he wasn't beneath the horse. He looked around. The bloody mud was churned, and ran liquid with red, fresh spilled and bright. His people and the black shadows lay, indistinguishable from each other, united in death, and equally welcome to the crows.

His body was whole, and once more in the white wool undergarment. A chill wind blew across the field, the sweet reek of blood mingling with the other odors of death. Something moved, something that was not a carrion crow, and his heart leapt, hoping that something yet lived. He moved toward the motion, then stopped, sorrow and guilt eating at him. As the crows ate at the black stallion lying motionless in the filth, its mane lifting to fly in the wind. The crows fled him as he walked to the animal.

The horse shifted as he came nearer, and for a moment he thought it had clung to life and he would have to put it out of its misery. Beyond it were the bits of shield, and sword and fragments of armor that once were people, before he decided to use them. He shuddered and moved closer. The transformations were undone before his eyes, leaving only the corpses of men and women. Even in death, they were more real to him than anything else in the whole bloody pointless business.

"Well, are you happy?"

Blake turned heavily. The monk was there once more, its bony hands tucked neatly into its sleeves. "Happy?" he asked, the question meaningless to him in his grief.

"You got what you wanted. See." The monk waved at the field. "Your enemy, the black knight, is dead. Your people are free."

"My people are dead. And I have not even destroyed the true enemy."

"A minor point. I'll take care of it." The monk waved, and the only other living thing on the battlefield - the gray horse - gave a loud cry and fell, stiffly. "Easy enough. It was old, and corrupt within. It would have died soon enough without either of us."

"Then what was the point? Why did you let me do it?"

"You wanted victory and you wanted it now. You said you were willing to pay anything. I am always fair."

"You tricked me!"

"I did not. This is what you demanded. It is not my fault that you did not see the consequences of your demands."

"Please," Blake said. "It was my mistake, why must they all suffer for it?"

"Why not?" The monk said. "Excuse me, I must finish my work." He reached the corpse of the dark-haired man who had been Blake's charger, and picked up the body.

"Leave him."

"No. He is mine now, and will serve me, as he did you." The monk pushed back its hood, and the face was the same hollow nothingness that was within the black knight. "He will make a fine Death, don't you think? Driven mad, and to murder, and suicide? They will talk of him for a millennia." The monk slipped one arm of its robe onto the dead man's arm. The corpse's brown eyes opened, and turned to Blake.

"Blake," the voice was a thin thread, but it pulled at Blake's heart.

He lunged forward, wrestling the chill emptiness of Death, fighting to pull his friend from its claw-handed grip. "Avon!" he shouted, suddenly knowing the man he'd used and ruined and killed. "Avon!" he fought blindly with all the strength in his body, feeling his fists batter against something that yielded and gave. He pulled the corpse into his own arms, and looked into the brown eyes once more. Avon smiled, at peace, and lay dead in Blake's arms.

***

"Easy, Blake! Easy!" Avon was scowling, one hand over his right eye. The left hand was clutching at Blake's shoulder, digging deeply into the muscle.

Blake blinked and looked around, startled. "What?" He was sitting up, dressed in a loose medical tunic, in Liberator's medical unit, clutching Avon's arms. "Avon? Are you all right?"

Avon released him, and stepped back, lowering his hand to reveal the blossoming of what would be a real shiner, given time. "I have been better. Next time, I don't believe I'll give in to Cally's soft heart. 'Restraints are barbaric'. Maybe so, but it's easier on the rest of us."

"Are you all right, Blake?" Cally's concerned face filled Blake's vision. He was glad to see her, but somehow he wished Avon was there instead.

"Fine," he said, staring past her, to Avon. Avon raised his head like a wary animal, and Blake saw the stallion again, distrusting him but still loyal to the death. "I'm sorry, Avon."

Avon gave him an odd look, but his voice softened. "Yes, well, I should have been more careful. You were delirious. A result of the blow to the head. The one you took on your last mission," Avon prodded as Blake was silent, staring at him.

"Yes, I remember," Blake said. He did remember. It just seemed so pointless. Another raid, another military complex blown up, another bit of 'essential' hardware stolen. After awhile all the missions began to seem like the same one.

"Cally?" Avon asked, concern showing on his normally cold features, his eyes softened. Blake liked the effect. And Avon had a nice smile, he thought, remembering the last time he'd seen it. But that had been before he began arguing the necessity of destroying Central Control.

Cally bustled around Blake with instruments which he ignored, filling his eyes with the sight of Avon. Alive and well, and fractious as ever. "There were indications of a slight concussion. But the equipment has taken care of that. You are fine, Blake." She patted him on the shoulder. "You can get up and get dressed any time."

"And get back to your rebellion," Avon muttered, resentment barely in check.

Blake rose and took the clothes Cally held out to him. "Thank you, Cally." He gave her a warm smile. After all, it was only a dream and a particularly silly one at that. The feelings he had for the dream Avon were the ravings of a bruised brain, nothing more. He went behind a screen for modesty's sake and quickly donned the clothes. "I'll see you on the flight deck, Avon."

Avon nodded and started to follow, but halted when Cally said, "Avon, let me put a regenerator pad on that eye. Or do you enjoy looking like a bandit?"

Avon glanced at Blake's retreating back, then shook his head. "All right, Cally. Let's see if you can put right what Fearless Leader has done."

Blake heard, and it was as if a cold hand had clutched his heart. Dream or no, Avon was all too human, not the invulnerable creature he pretended. The thought of Avon dying because of Blake made him feel ill. It was worse somehow than if he pictured one of the others dead. Avon didn't want to fight the Federation. He just wanted to be left alone.

Did he have the right to impose his will, his sense of moral duty, on the others, especially on Avon? And worst of all, what if he was wrong? What if destroying Central Control was as useless as killing the black knight? Abruptly, he changed his mind about going to the flight deck. He was in no condition to be seen by the others.

He would go to his cabin and rest. When he woke, he was sure to have recaptured his certainty. He had to. It was all he had. He had to destroy the Federation. He shuddered, as the words carried an unpleasant echo of the white knight.

Avon arrived on the flight deck, and stopped. Only Vila was there, and he was snoozing at his post. The last part was normal enough. Gan was in the Rest Room, attempting to use Orac as a study aid, although the computer was as poor a teacher as the big man was a student. Still, you had to admire brute persistence. The pilot's position was also empty, as Jenna was in her quarters, resting. She'd been on duty two straight shifts following the botched mission where Blake was injured and the pursuit ships came close to ending all their careers. She'd held out long enough to be sure Blake would be all right, then agreed with Avon that their only pilot had to take care of herself. At one time she would have waited until Blake woke, but she appeared to have finally accepted Blake as a mere friend, and given up hope of a more personal relationship.

With Blake the Cause came before anything. Including his own life. As exemplified in this latest fiasco. Avon had warned him that the complex was too ill-guarded for such a valuable installation, but would Blake listen? Hah. So he had to drag an unconscious Blake out of a trap after a bare-knuckles bout with a trooper who'd obviously eaten all his spinach as a lad.

He had wanted to ream Blake out thoroughly for his poor judgment, but it hadn't seemed appropriate to attack him in the medical unit while the other was still groggy. Not quite sporting. The flight deck was a better venue. He was surprised that Blake wasn't there, having had plenty of time to get there ahead of him. Cally had noticed that he was favoring his right side, so she insisted on examining him thoroughly and then, while regenerating two fractured ribs which he'd thought were merely bruised, she gave him a lecture. For some reason she considered Avon's natural desire for privacy an act of overly heroic self- sacrifice. He didn't bother to disabuse her. "Where is Blake?"

"Um? What?" Vila unslouched sufficiently to look at Avon. "Blake's not here."

"I can see that, idiot. Where is he?" Avon was already annoyed and didn't need Vila to add to it. "When did he leave?"

"He didn't. I mean, he never got here." Vila sat up, looking worried. "Cally said he was all right. D' ya think he's collapsed and died in a corridor somewhere?"

"I doubt we are so fortunate. No, he's probably just had a brilliant scheme occur to him, and gone off to plan our demise. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check." Avon went to the nearest console and set the intercom to Blake's quarters. "Blake? Are you there, Blake?"

After a lengthy pause, during which Vila fidgeted and Avon glared at him for it, Blake's reply came, "Yes, Avon. What is it?"

"You said you were on your way to the flight deck. What happened?" Avon's voice rose, a note of concern entering it.

There was another pause, then Blake said, "Nothing. I just changed my mind. I'm tired."

"If you feel unwell, perhaps you ought to return to the medical unit."

"No. No, it's nothing. Just... Avon, I... never mind."

Blake's uncharacteristic waffling and uncertainty made Avon uneasy. Worse was the hint of depression. "I'll be right there." He signed off without waiting for a reply. "Vila, try to keep awake, will you?" He turned for the corridor leading to the living quarters.

"What about Blake?" Vila wailed.

Avon did not reply, already having dismissed Vila from his thoughts. He passed Jenna's room on the way to Blake's, and hesitated, thinking to have her accompany him. He decided against it. He had gotten the distinct impression that Blake had some problem which he might discuss with him. Adding another person, no matter how much more sympathetic to Blake, could make Blake shut up again. Whatever the problem, Avon had no intention of waiting weeks while Blake dropped heavy-handed hints about his misery and made the rest of them miserable.

"Blake?"

"Come in."

Blake sounded more like himself. Maybe Avon had just been imagining things on the flight deck. After all, there was no reason... The door opened, and he saw that he had not been imagining things. Blake was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, his head down. There was a large, half-empty bottle held loosely in one hand, and he took a deep gulp from it as Avon came in.

"What's this, your Vila imitation?" Avon came in, letting the door shut behind him.

"I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. I thought this might help." Blake put the bottle down on the bedside table.

"And does it?" Avon came closer, trying to see Blake's expression.

"No." Blake lifted his head, and Avon recoiled from the naked yearning in the other man's face. "Tell me, Avon, do I abuse my leadership?"

"That's an interesting question. What brought it up?" Avon picked up the bottle and sniffed.

"I'm not drunk. I mean it, Avon. Do I use you?"

"At every opportunity," Avon replied, without considering the consequences of what he believed to be an honest answer. Blake looked stricken. "That's what people do, Blake. They use each other. Particularly if you want something very badly, as you do."

"I'm sorry. A man shouldn't do that to his friends."

"Friends? Now you're getting maudlin. Lie down, you are still suffering the after-effects of your concussion." Avon put the bottle down, out of Blake's reach, and pushed Blake's shoulders back to the bed.

"Do you think so?" Blake sounded hopeful.

"Yes, of course." Blake was like a big doll, flexible, but unresponsive as Avon lifted Blake's feet onto the bed and shoved him over far enough so he was in no danger of falling off. "And it was extremely stupid to drink alcohol on top of it."

"You think I'm extremely stupid all the time," Blake remarked mildly.

"Not stupid exactly, just blind to reality. I don't know why I bother to tell you." Avon said. "You don't care to hear my opinion."

"Your opinion matters to me. You matter to me." Blake's voice dropped to a growl so laden with sexual undertones that Avon stepped back, startled.

"You must be drunk," he decided. "Shall I call in Jenna? She'll be happy to know that something can awaken your libido, although a crack on the skull seems odd foreplay."

"Avon." The growl was deeper, and Avon felt his body reacting. He had always been a hedonist, although he did not indulge in the baser pleasures as often as Vila. In fact, it had been a very long time- not since Anna- since he had enjoyed consensual sex.

"I think I had better leave," Avon said. "You don't know what you're offering." Although there had been more than one occasion when he and Blake had been thrown together in the heat of battle... no, it was simply too dangerous. If Blake had that sort of hold on him, Avon would never be free. But he lingered, his body finding the situation, and Blake, attractive. He liked small, graceful women, but there was also something to be said for large, powerful men.

"I know exactly what I'm offering. Anything you want, Avon, anything you need. I've been taking from you all along. I'd like to give something back."

"That's very kind of you, but I'm not into charity," Avon snapped. The spell had broken. He headed for the door, angry at Blake for having located his weakness, and angry at himself for nearly allowing his body to overrule his good sense.

"No, Avon! It's not like that." Blake reached the door before him, and stood before it. "I want you. Today, I might have died. It shook me up, made me think. I... dreamed about us."

"A normal enough reaction to a near-death experience." Avon's voice softened, as he began to see Blake's confusion in the medical unit from a fresh perspective. "Is that why you were so off-balance? It must have been some dream."

"It was, Avon." Blake ran his hands through his hair. "It was very disturbing. It brought home some truths about myself."

"Such as?"

"The others were in my dream too, Avon."

"An orgy. How nice," Avon bit off the words as if they tasted sour.

"No, not an orgy," Blake almost shouted, lowering his voice as Avon winced. "I didn't care about the others. They died, and I regretted it, but it didn't matter next to the fact that you died, too. It was all my fault; I led you into a hopeless battle, and you died. And when I woke up, you were alive, but I am still leading you into a hopeless battle."

"I have no intention of dying, no matter how vivid your dream. In fact, that is what I've been trying to tell you all along. I am not going to die for your dreams. Now, stand aside."

"No," Blake repeated. "Please, Avon. Stay with me." He pulled the other man close. "I shut my eyes, and I see you dead. I'm so tired of it I could weep."

"You're working yourself into a hysterical fit. I'm going to call Cally."

"No." Blake looked deep into Avon's eyes. "I'm not sick, not drunk, and not hysterical. I'm lonely, Avon. I know what my dream meant. It meant I'd been ignoring the truth about us. It was easy for me to be noble with Jenna. It's been nearly impossible with you."

"So you want me. Specifically, you want to have sex with me?" At Blake's nod, Avon said, "Nothing to do with politics, or leadership, or any macho games? Just good, hot, randy lust?"

"Yes." Blake groped Avon's crotch, finding a swelling in the tight trousers that told him his interest was reciprocated.

Avon shuddered in response. Blake wanted him. Wanted him badly enough to make himself vulnerable. If Avon walked out now he would have the upper hand in their never-ending battle for dominance. Blake could never speak of this, but Avon could. He could destroy his 'fearless leader' with sly innuendo; alienating Jenna, offending Gan's morality, frightening Vila, and confusing Cally all at one time. He could grind Blake's heroic reputation into the mud, leaving the man no better, in his crew's eyes, than Avon. That moral superiority was the only thing standing between him and the Liberator. Avon could break Blake and step over the shards to victory.

It would be very simple. Abruptly, he was ashamed of himself. Blake had shown rare courage in admitting his desire. A desire which he reciprocated. To win the ship in that fashion would violate his personal code of honor. If you could not keep the rules you'd made for yourself, you were nothing.

As a penance for his lapse, perhaps he ought to indulge Blake. His cock throbbed at the thought. A few sweaty minutes- or hours- depending on stamina- would be essentially meaningless, but physically enjoyable. No doubt afterward Blake would be embarrassed by his loss of control, and grateful for Avon's understanding.

Blake's hands cupped and stroked him, firmly, but with a reverent caution that Avon approved. Reflexively, he spread his legs for better balance. Blake's hands delved farther, taking the movement as permission. It did feel good, too good to deny. Pleasure radiated out from Blake's warm, strong fingers. Why was he resisting this? He wanted Blake's body. And he wanted it now.

"To hell with it," Avon said.

Blake pulled back, thinking he had lost. Avon grabbed the back of Blake's neck and pulled him into a deep, searching kiss.

"I haven't indulged in a while, so don't expect any fancy frills. At least, not the first time." He began stripping, quickly and efficiently. "Get your clothes off, and get on the bed."

"I see it has been a long time." Blake grinned and obeyed.

"Do you have a suitable lubricant?" Avon asked, nonchalant in his nudity. He was already fully aroused. Normally, he liked to take his time, but his blood was hot and surging within his cock, demanded immediate attention.

Blake was staring at Avon, and he had to repeat the question.

"In the lav." Blake licked his lips and reached for Avon's hips. "We don't need it." He knelt and began suckling Avon's penis without finesse.

Avon clung to Blake's shoulders for a moment, enjoying the sensations. "No." He grabbed Blake's hair and pulled him off. "I need it. You're too damn big."

"You could..."

"No. I don't like it that way," Avon said, honestly. He glared at Blake. "But don't let that give you any ideas. I do not like domination. I just enjoy being fucked. Is that simple enough?"

"Yes," Blake said. His eyes crinkled at the corners, a repressed smile.

"What?" Avon asked, affronted, seeing the amusement as ridicule. Although after the way he fought Blake on the flight deck this unrequested submission must seem incongruous- and incongruity is the basis of humor.

"I just wish I'd known that when we first met."

"If you think I'd have told anyone on the London , you're completely out of your alleged mind. It would have been suicidal. I am trusting you, Blake, you do realize that?"

"Yes," Blake's voice was strained. "Excuse me." He headed for the lavatory.

"Blake!" What now?

"Here." Blake was back in seconds, with a small jar in his hands. "Can we talk about this later?"

Avon accepted the jar, and glanced down. Blake was also in full erection, but he'd already passed beyond pleasant anticipation to pain. The way that cock was seeping and jumping, Avon would have to hurry. Either Blake's control was not as good as Avon's, or he'd been celibate much longer. Considering what the Federation mind-benders had done to him, it was entirely possible Blake had been pure and untouched for years. Well, that was going to change. He knelt. "Hold on." Keeping the process as clinical as possible, he covered the thick staff with the oily lotion.

"I can't, Avon," Blake groaned. "I can't wait." He reached down to masturbate, and Avon slapped his hands aside.

"Bastard. You are not going to cheat me." Avon turned around on hands and knees, presenting his backside. He spread his legs.

"No. I'll hurt you. You're not ready," Blake protested weakly.

"Screw that. And screw me. Or I swear I'll never do this again."

"Avon." His name was a sigh, as the last shred of Blake's resistance snapped. Heavy hands clamped onto his shoulders, locking him in place, a hot body covered his, and a hard cock pressed to his opening. He hadn't time to relax before penetration, and it hurt.

"Ah!" He arched, and squirmed, trying to find a better position, but Blake held him too tightly and began pumping, fast and furious. The internal blows excited him, even through the pain, and his own cock stretched up, wet and aching. Aching for the touch he could not give it without crashing nose first to the deck. Blake's balls met his ass, kissing damply, even as Blake bit down on his shoulder. Blake grunted, and growled, deep in his throat, animal noises, primal and meaningless.

Impossibly, Blake thrust faster, and harder. One hand released its hold to search under Avon's belly, finding Avon's cock. It squeezed and pulled, until Avon was screaming. Then the other hand reached under and grasped Avon's testicles, and yanked them hard. Avon bucked, and reared upward, back bent, quivering bowstring taut, and climaxed, cock throbbing in Blake's unyielding grip, ass contracting around Blake's wildly pistoning rod.

Blake moaned, and squeezed until Avon thought he would faint from the sheer stimulation- pain and pleasure, mingled and indistinguishable. Then Blake rose on his knees, his hands around Avon's waist, as he lifted the other man clear of the deck and shot him full of seed.

They collapsed, panting.

After a few minutes, Avon said, "Well. Quite acceptable - for a first time." Blake moved his hips slightly, and Avon gasped, as Blake's erection thickened within him. "What?"

Blake kissed him on the back of the neck. "Up for a second time?"

"Already?"

Blake made as if to withdraw. "I can wait." Belatedly, he added. "Did I hurt you?"

Avon reached back to dig his fingers into Blake's buttock. "Stay," he said, as if talking to a trained animal. "I may want a tissue regenerator, later. Later!" he stressed, pinching hard on a tender place as Blake shifted. "For now, I would like to continue this. On the bed."

"All right." Blake nuzzled into Avon's shoulder. "Shall I carry you?" he asked when Avon showed no inclination to move, despite his words.

"I'd like to see you try. I'll wager you can barely walk."

"You'd lose." Blake pulled out, despite Avon's clutching hands, and stood up. "You'd be surprised what I can do- given the proper incentive." He picked Avon up and took the five paces necessary to reach the bed. He dumped Avon unceremoniously on it.

"I hope you didn't put your back out," Avon said. He smiled and rolled over onto his stomach. "That would be inconvenient."

"Far be it from me to inconvenience Kerr Avon."

"Good. I'm glad you know your place."

"Right about there?" Blake put his hand on Avon's rump, fingers questing inside. Avon jumped slightly, but made no complaint. "You're bruised."

"Astonishing. I would never have guessed." Avon folded his arms under his head, making himself comfortable.

"But there's no bleeding."

"Are you taking pictures back there? Or do you plan on doing something?"

"We need more lube," Blake decided. "Where's the jar?"

Avon waved in the general direction of the middle of the room. He propped up on his elbows, wincing as strained muscles made themselves known, to watch Blake retrieve the jar. By the time Blake turned, objective in hand, he had smoothed his face out once more. "I didn't read the label. I hope that's non-toxic."

Blake surveyed the jar, then pulled a long face. "It's harmless. Except..."

"Except?" Avon wondered if he was going to have to suffer the indignity of anal lavage. He had no intention of letting Cally in on this most personal of affairs, but it would be awkward to do it himself, and Blake's skill in the medical field was limited.

"This isn't the jar I meant to get. I was in a hurry."

"Yes. I vaguely recall you saying something of the sort. What is this stuff, then?"

"Well, actually, it's something l use on my hair. To take out some of the curl."

Avon glanced at Blake's crotch, and the rampant curly growth there, and chuckled. "Oh, Blake. Don't feel so bad, maybe you'll set a new style."

"Not likely as you're the only one who'll ever see the result." Blake casually dug his fingers into the stuff in the jar. Avon watched, mouth dry, as the fingers came out white with lotion.

"Am I, really?" This was going beyond lust, and Avon didn't care for that.

"Can you see me propositioning Vila or Gan?" Blake grinned.

"Vila, possibly. Cally and Jenna are definitely out of the running?" Blake's nod was curt. "Ah, I see. Shame you didn't tell Jenna."

"I did." Blake shrugged. "I finally came right out and told her I'd never wanted a woman. She thought it was Federation conditioning, or I just had a bad experience as a boy, or possibly I was shy."

"Shy? You?" Avon laughed. Considering what Blake's re-lubed fingers were currently doing to his ass, it was hard to visualize Blake as reticent. "Shrinking violet- ah, yes, more, please."

"Shrinking?" Blake growled, pretending to take offense.

"Poor choice of words, admittedly." Avon turned his head to admire Blake. Proud, upstanding router of established foundations that he was. Avon's established foundation was eager to be routed.

"I accept your apology," Blake said, settling astride Avon and rubbing his cock along the warm crevice of the flushed pink rump below him.

"Wasn't an apology," Avon muttered. He stretched sensuously, enjoying Blake's hands on his lower back, massaging - whether by accident, or studied purpose - out the tension that often resided there. The hands were strong, the slow tempo of their kneading matching the organ that slipped along his backbone.

"Does that mean I should stop?"

"Do you want to?" Avon said, feeling quite confident about the answer.

"No." The register of Blake's voice had deepened even further; Avon imagined he could feel the vibration of it in his bones. Or perhaps it was only his pulse, beating more rapidly with every second.

"I want to never stop loving you." Blake shifted, and the thick cock breached Avon's entrance, pushing slowly deeper. "Never."

Avon would have protested the word 'love', but for once he wasn't in the mood to quarrel. Not when that plentiful supply of Blake was being fed into him, sating at least one of his hungers. He was a greedy man; he'd never denied that. He was seldom satisfied, for he could usually see bigger and better prizes just out of his reach. At the moment, though, he was very nearly content. Which only went to show what prolonged abstinence can do to a man.

Blake's hands went to Avon's waist, and lifted, raising the hips just enough for him to slip one hand under, and around to the twitching cock he found there. He stroked along the underside, seeking out the most sensitive spots with uncanny accuracy.

Involuntarily, Avon lifted himself higher, asking for more in the only way possible, as he was afraid to speak. Sensation rolled over him, making the urge to give his partner sweet words and promises hard to resist. No. Not Blake. This was not love. It couldn't be.

"Oh, Avon, love," Blake whispered, his head bent close, too close, to Avon's. He covered Avon entirely now, engulfing him, protecting him, claiming him. His words were soft, almost dreamy, entirely at odds with the bruising force of his wild thrusting.

"No," Avon moaned, suddenly struggling to escape. Blake wasn't fucking him, or even having sex, he was making love to him. "Let me go. I can't. I can't." But the pounding rhythm up his ass and the smooth, hard grip that milked his cock were impossible to evade. Blake's thighs slapped against his buttocks with loud, smacking noises; forcing him higher and higher with each thrust until he was up on his toes, although his head still lay on the pillow. At this angle, the internal stimulation was irresistible. He found himself moving his hips in counterpoint to Blake, pulling away on the withdrawals only to push backward into the impalements.

Abruptly, he stopped, groaned loudly, then scooted back on his haunches, driving Blake into him. He screamed and came, so overwhelmed by the force of his orgasm that he barely noticed Blake's frenzy of thrusting followed by a groan and stillness.

He moved almost immediately after Blake finished, pulling himself off while both men were still gasping for breath. He brushed aside Blake's hand and staggered to his feet.

"Avon, are you all right?"

"You're not my mother," Avon snapped, finding Blake's honest, open face and sincere concern unbearable. "Leave me alone."

Blake sat up, sweaty and flushed from his exertions, a lingering grin fading as Avon spoke. "What's the matter now? I swear, you are the most contrary man I ever met. Are you going to say you didn't enjoy that?"

"You have a big, fat cock, to match your big, fat mouth. I can appreciate the one, but not the other."

"Are you always so vicious after lovemaking?"

Avon turned, so that Blake would not see his face. "Love? What love? You insist on romanticizing everything, including a tawdry biological urge. You and I had complementary itches. We scratched. That is all."

"That is not all." Blake got out of the bed, and came to stand in front of the other man. "Avon, I love you. You love me. I know it now. Please..." He put his hands on Avon's shoulders, and drew him in for a kiss. Avon stood still, his eyes blank as if bored, his hands limp at his sides.

When Blake lifted his mouth, Avon said, "If you're quite finished, I'd like to get a shower and some rest before my watch."

Blake shoved Avon back, making him stagger a step or two for balance. "You're a coward, Avon," he said thickly. "I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. You won't admit you love me because that would upset all your cold calculations, wouldn't it? God, I wish I'd never told you how I felt. Then at least I could still have dreamed about you. You've spoiled even that."

"It's not my fault that you never see the consequences of your actions." Avon didn't know why that hurt Blake so, but it was as if he had dealt Blake a mortal blow. For a fleeting instant he regretted it, then Blake's hand came up, a blur driven by unreasoning fury, and there was a sudden, blinding pain in his jaw, followed by nothingness.

"Avon?" Blake blinked, the red haze of rage fading from his vision. If only Avon hadn't said that- it was so like Death's mocking words. It brought back that helpless feeling of loss and stirred up old angers in his soul.

Avon was lying on the deck, crumpled in an awkward, ungraceful tangle of limbs, motionless. "Avon?" Blake approached, slowly. It was only one punch. Avon must be faking, surely. Surely, he would rise, and pin Blake with his vicious glare, and make some nasty remark. Any nasty remark.

"Avon?" Blake knelt. Avon was breathing, but there was something wrong. Something horribly distorted about the face. Blake's knuckles stung, and he looked down at his broad, strong hands, and cursed them. At the very least Avon had a dislocated jaw. What if he'd broken Avon's neck? Thank God for one mercy, Avon was too deeply unconscious to feel any pain. But he might wake at any time, and move, possibly doing damage even Liberator's advanced medical unit couldn't undo.

"Cally." He rose and went to the intercom, keying it to the whole ship, not wanting to waste time tracking her down. "Cally? There's been an accident. Avon, he's in my quarters. I don't dare move him. I may have broken his neck."

"Blake?" Cally's voice was high and startled. "I'll be right there. Keep him still."

That was Cally. No explanations needed, no complaints given, just loyal, stable, supportive Cally. What a shame he hadn't been able to fall in love with her, instead of Avon. It would have made life much simpler. He tore the pillows from the bed and pressed them against Avon's neck, immobilizing it. He wanted to straighten out Avon's arms and legs to make him more comfortable, but he couldn't take the risk.

Blake was watching Avon's face, torn between wishing he would wake, and fearing he would wake. He didn't hear the door slide open. It took Vila's shocked exclamation to let him know they weren't alone. "Oh, my God. What have you done?"

Blake looked up and raised his hand instinctively, seeking help. Vila back peddled, obviously terrified. "Avon's hurt. Come here. He mustn't move until Cally's checked him."

Half in, half out of the doorway, Vila didn't move. "Why'd you do it?"

"I lost my temper," Blake admitted. "Come here!"

Reluctantly, Vila approached. He knelt on the other side of Avon, glanced down at the unconscious man, then back up at Blake. "You didn't have to, you know. I mean, if you were that hard up, Jenna would have..."

Blake glared. But instead of backing down, Vila seemed to grow bolder. "You don't like women, do you? I should have seen that." He looked away from Blake, then back. "But you shouldn't have raped Avon. He'll never forgive you."

"I didn't rape him!"

Vila looked at Blake. "Right, the two of you were playing strip poker to pass the time. And when you caught him cheating, you beat the shit out of him." Vila's voice was hard, and his gaze was level. "At least, that's what you'd better tell Gan. And you ought to get some clothes on before Cally gets here."

Only then did the fact of his nakedness sink in. He wanted to deny Vila's accusation, but he wondered had Avon really wanted him at all? Or had Avon been playing another of his games and had it get out of his control? He got up and threw on a robe, then pulled a sheet from the bed to lay over Avon. He had barely sat back down on the deck when Cally arrived.

"Vila, Blake, hold him steady." Cally didn't waste time speculating on the tension in the room or the extremely strange situation. She unpacked the medical kit she had brought, producing a hand-held scanner. She activated it and passed it over Avon from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet. When she had completed the pass she gave a small sigh of relief. "Nothing serious. No spinal injury or bones broken. His jaw is dislocated, and he's suffered a minor concussion. It will be better to treat him in the medical unit."

Blake wrapped the sheet more closely around Avon and bent to pick him up, but Vila intervened, saying, "Let me help. No sense in dropping him just to show off your muscles."

"All right." Blake was trying to be reasonable, but if Vila didn't change his attitude, there would be two bodies needing medical attention. He must have gotten the message across inaudibly, because Vila took up his share of the burden without saying another word on the way.

Gan and Jenna were waiting outside the medical unit when they arrived. Jenna stared, wide-eyed, taking in Blake's rumpled appearance. Avon's bare arm slipped out from the sheet as she watched, livid bruises already stark against his pallor. She looked at Blake and her face hardened. She turned to Gan and said, "I'll be on the flight deck. Tell me how he is, later." She gave Blake one final poisonous glare, and stalked off.

Gan nodded, mutely, staring at Blake as if he'd never seen him before. Blake tightened his jaw. "Let's get Avon taken care of, then we'll try to sort this out."

Gan followed them in. Blake thought briefly of ordering him and Vila out, but he doubted either one would obey him at the moment. For a moment's passion he'd destroyed his crew's faith in him. It had been a poor bargain, although if Avon had returned his love, he wouldn't have given a damn what anyone thought of them.

Once Avon was on the examination table, Blake carefully arranged Avon's limbs. He didn't know what his face revealed, but when he looked up, Vila was giving him a wan, little, sympathetic smile.

"You're in love, aren't you?" Vila said.

Blake nodded. "He is, too, and he hates me for it. It wasn't rape, but it might as well have been."

Cally lifted her head from her work for an instant, gazing at Blake. She told him // Avon is a very private person. He will fight you for invading his isolation, but I think you should not give up. He needs someone strong, someone he can rely upon for emotional support. //

Blake gave Cally a tired smile, a bare twitch of his lips. "I think if he doesn't try to kill me, I'll be lucky."

Avon groaned, moving his head. His eyes opened, and his brow wrinkled in confusion. "What... ah." He put a hand to his jaw.

"Don't try to talk, Avon," Cally said, briskly. "I've realigned your jaw, but the tendon and muscle regeneration will take some time. You also have a minor concussion. Lie still, while I complete the treatment."

Avon's eyes shifted, hardening as they met Blake's. He continued on, taking in Gan's and Vila's expressions of mingled embarrassment and sympathy. "Get them out." He winced, and put his hand to his jaw again.

"I told you..." Cally stopped as he opened his mouth again. "All right." She put a hand on his shoulder. "If you promise to permit me to complete your treatment as I see fit, I will send them away."

Avon glared at her, then nodded. Even that slight motion seemed to pain him, as he closed his eyes tightly immediately afterward.

"We need to talk, Avon," Blake said. Avon turned his head aside, stifling a moan of pain as he did so.

"Later," Cally said firmly. She telepathed to Blake. _You cannot expect him to be reasonable when he is embarrassed and in pain. Let him have some time to think about it._ She made a shooing motion at the three men. With varying degrees of reluctance, they left.

Out in the corridor, Gan shook his head. "Sorry, Blake. I thought... well, you know what I thought. I'll go have a talk with Jenna. I'm sure she'll understand."

"She may understand," Blake said ruefully, "but I doubt she'll approve."

Gan shrugged. "I can't say as I approve, but that doesn't matter. I was in love once, Blake. It's not something you set out to do. It just happens, like lightning. You're in the right place at the right time, and it hits you."

"Or you hit it," Vila said.

Blake frowned.

"Sorry. I just meant..." Vila trailed off, looking back over his shoulder at the closed door of the medical unit. "He's gonna be awfully hard to live with after this."

***

Less than an hour later Cally reported that Avon had returned to his quarters. He was in there a long time, and the others eventually gathered on the flight deck, seeking safety in numbers - as if a hungry predator stalked the corridors. Jenna was cool to Blake, but not angry at him any longer. She'd promised to stay as long as he needed a pilot, and would keep her word.

"Avon." Vila's voice was nervous. Blake looked up to see the man in question stalking down the steps to the flight deck. Avon was fully dressed in tight, black leather unrelieved by a single silver stud or other decoration. It was disconcertingly similar to a Federation uniform. His head and hands were all that showed as human. The frozen expression on his face might have belonged to a mutoid.

Blake rose. "Avon, I'm sorry..." he began, before Avon waved him to silence.

"Don't. It was my mistake as well as yours." Avon's eyes moved, meeting those of each of the assembled crew in turn. "As Blake has so clumsily made apparent to all of you, he and I had sex. That was not enough for him; he requires an emotional commitment. I am not capable of one, nor do I wish to remain on this vessel while he attempts to mold me into his heart's desire." The last two words were filled with icy contempt. "Therefore I will be leaving this happy company at the first opportunity. I believe my contribution has been enough to earn a share of the treasure room's contents." He glanced at Orac, which was on the table before the flight deck couch. "I would like to take Orac, but undoubtedly you will have greater need of its services. Lacking me, Fearless Leader will need something to give him good advice which he will ignore."

No one could think of anything to say, although Vila opened and closed his mouth a few times. Avon sneered, turned and started to walk away, but halted when Blake spoke. The rebel leader had regained his composure, and sounded quite in command. "Avon, I will make a bargain with you."

Avon didn't turn, but he said, "I'm listening."

"I need you and Orac to take Central Command. Do that for me, and you can have Orac when you leave." If only as a monument to the love they would never share, Blake still hoped to make the Federation a place where people might be free to love.

Avon turned back, and showed his teeth. "No. Your quest is pointless, endless and suicidal. Orac has told me of no less than fifteen attempts to destroy Central Command. None of the attackers ever lived long enough to tell about it. Which fact alone makes me suspicious."

"None of them had the Liberator. Or Orac. Or you."

"Liberator will be useless. Unless you intend to bombard Earth from orbit?" He smiled unpleasantly at Blake's shock. "I thought not. The installation will undoubtedly be shielded from teleport. Orac cannot read Central Command's computers; it has already tried. And if you think any one computer technician is capable of comprehending, locating, and totally disabling the vulnerable areas of the Federation's most sophisticated system during the... oh, let us be generous... fifteen minutes that you and your crew can hold off the swarms of troopers that must inevitably be stationed there, then you are an even bigger fool than I gave you credit for."

"What would you have me do, then? Give up?" Blake shouted.

"Yes. That is exactly what I would have you do. Give up. Face reality. It isn't pretty, and good does not always prevail over evil. White hats make better targets and black," Avon looked down at himself, "black is very good at concealing blood."

"And are you wounded, Avon? Is that what you're concealing? I pity you."

Avon's eyes blazed. "Do you? That's fine. I despise you. That makes us even."

Cally spoke at last. "Avon, you know we need you. It is cowardice to leave us simply because Blake has put you in an uncomfortable situation."

"Uncomfortable?" Avon shook his head. "You have a way with words, Cally."

"She's right, though," Jenna said. She gazed at Avon steadily. "If you were really as cold as you say you are, you'd just tell Blake to keep his distance. You don't care what we think of you, and you've risked your life before now just in hopes of getting your paws on Liberator, eventually."

"True. But some things are beyond price," Avon replied.

"Not to you." Avon stared at Gan, surprised that the big man had a comment. "You put a price on everything, Avon. Why don't you put a price on your help, for, oh, say the next month? That way, you'd have time to plan your departure. It's only sensible."

"Common sense from the common man," Avon mocked.

Vila had been huddled on the flight deck, as inconspicuous as possible without becoming totally invisible."That's right, make fun of everybody," he said. "Make everybody as miserable as you are. Act like you're the only person with a brain in the whole universe."

"Not the whole universe," Avon muttered, "but this room? Quite likely."

"Gan's only giving you a bit of good advice. You haven't got a decent bolt - hole, have you? What are you going to do, jump ship at the next planet we pass? The Federation'd have you before you could find a fence for the first jewel."

"All this sudden concern for my well-being is touching."

Vila shrugged. "You get caught, they make you tell them all about Liberator and then they know just how to get us. I'd rather put up with you than get shot."

Avon was beginning to waver, Blake could see. Blake said, "A month, Avon. How could it hurt?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure you'll find a way." Avon paused, apparently calculating the odds, then he said, "All right. A month. If you don't manage to get me killed first."

***

It was difficult keeping his mind on the business of revolution. Gan and Vila had been awkwardly formal with him at first, but after a few days they relaxed, reconciling him with the 'old' Blake they thought they knew so well. He was actually glad to have it out in the open. For one thing, he could now enjoy Jenna's company without feeling he was leading her on. Cally had been a pillar of strength for him. She confessed she had no suspicions about his true nature, and yet had shown no surprise when it was revealed. She said that he and Avon belonged together- something about an affinity of spirit, or the workings of fate. He wasn't much for alien mysticism, but he knew she was right. Together, he and Avon were an undefeatable team. If only they could be together, truly together, nothing would be beyond them. If only he could make Avon agree.

Avon always showed up for his watch and was, for him, remarkably polite and tolerant of Blake's plans, as if they no longer mattered enough for him to argue. There was always a distance in those deep brown eyes, and a stiffness in that slender back, despite his pretended disinterest. Blake ached to caress Avon, to smooth over all the hurt feelings and somehow make it right between them. As far as he could see, though, the only thing he'd done wrong was make Avon love him. It was maddening, part and parcel of Avon's perverse nature, he decided.

Gan and Vila had wangled him a month's grace. If he couldn't win Avon in that time, he'd lose him forever. Avon was running scared of something, and no amount of prodding would reveal his secret. Why would a man accept the most physical of intimacies without a quaver, then balk at emotional intimacy? His gut instinct told him that there was a way to reach Avon.

But if there wasn't, then he owed it to the rebellion not to waste this last month of Avon's talents. And, on a more personal level, Avon was easier to talk to when they were on a hostile planet. The survival instinct, no doubt. Blake talked to Orac at length, seeking the perfect mission and finally found it.

"Do we really need these crystals, Blake?" Avon asked, when informed they were going down to a primitive world on a rock-hunting expedition. "Surely, Liberator has an ample supply."

"Apparently, Liberator's builders didn't factor in the wear and tear of constant battle with the Federation. There are no spare crystals. And as to how much longer the originals will last...Judge for yourself." Blake tossed Avon a fist -sized yellowish crystal. "Stress fractures. They're starting to form in all the crystals. Unless you like the idea of facing Pursuit ships with the Neutron Blasters at half power, we need to get more."

"Granted," Avon said, sourly, after studying the flawed stone. "But why must you and I go down alone? And why this planet? According to Orac, Ferax Five's animal life includes some of the most vicious predators in the universe."

"You should be right at home, then," Vila remarked.

Avon gave him a mild glare. He'd been reserving his best for Blake the last four days, and the thief was beginning to feel neglected. He'd wandered onto the flight deck to watch Blake maneuver. Avon had been too quiet. There was an explosion due any moment.

Blake grunted, and went over to the weapons rack, picking up a gun and belt. "The animals are the reason why it's our best bet. Because of them the Federation couldn't place a mining colony here, despite the plentiful supply of high-grade ores and crystals. We should be able to pick up as much as we need lying about loose on the surface.

"I'm going because it's a dangerous mission and I don't feel justified in risking someone else's life while I sit back and watch. I'd rather go alone, but I need someone to guard my back. As you will soon be living in the lap of luxury, it only seemed fair that you should accompany me, rather than one of the others, who will remain to risk their lives after your retirement." Blake belted on the gun, then looked up at Avon. "On the other hand, I'm not forcing you. Jenna and Cally have already volunteered."

Avon sneered. "Oh, is that a challenge to my masculine ego?"

"Frankly, Avon, I'm sick of dealing with your ego. Either come with me, or don't." Blake turned. "I'm going to the teleport now to check Orac's coordinates. If you decide you aren't coming, then please ask Jenna or Cally to meet me there." Blake stalked off the flight deck in a fair simulation of anger when what he really felt was fear. The fear that Avon would decide to stay behind. 

Gan was in the teleport room, sitting behind the controls, when Blake entered. "I'm ready, Blake," he said. He frowned. "I wish I could come with you, but...my limiter, you know. It slows me down. I'm not reliable."

Blake smiled. "Nonsense. You're the most reliable man I know. "

"I try to be." Gan looked down at the controls, and took a breath as if nerving himself, "Talk to Avon, Blake. Make him stay. You can do it, I'm sure of it."

"I'm not."

At the sharp, cold voice Blake turned. Avon was in the corridor, pulling on a pair of black gloves to complete his all black ensemble. He was already wearing a Liberator handgun.

"Blake has a talent for mesmerizing the masses, but I am not one of them," he continued. "I will accompany you. And watch your back. But I will not listen to you. I realize this whole charade is intended merely to make me vulnerable to your blandishments. I've decided to allow you to get it out of your system, so that I will not have to endure twenty six more days of your scheming and manipulation. Give it your best shot, Blake, and then let it rest."

There really wasn't an answer for that, so Blake simply ignored it, leaning past Gan to double-check the coordinates. "We'll call in every hour. If we don't, then teleport us up fast. Something we disagreed with will be eating us."

Avon snapped his weapon out and poised, nearly in a crouch, on the teleport pad. Despite his annoyance, Blake appreciated the sight. Avon was very like a wild animal himself, alert to danger at all times, always ready for a fight. Even if he had to provoke one. Blake joined Avon on the teleport and nodded to Gan. "Put us down, Gan."

 

On materializing in a flat, unremarkable, grassy area, Avon turned rapidly, scouting for danger. He relaxed slightly when nothing threatening appeared.

Blake lifted his hand and spoke into his bracelet. "Down and safe, Gan. We'll call in in an hour."

"Well, where are these rock formations?" Avon asked, ever suspicious.

"That way," Blake pointed to Avon's left, where the grass began to slope upward. "The outcropping is too unstable for a safe teleport."

"Ah, so you didn't order us put down at a distance for the pleasure of a stroll with me?"

"Avon," Blake began, exasperated, then he stopped, warned by the unholy light in Avon's eyes that he was being goaded. "Look, let's just get the crystals and get out of here." He had to remind himself that punching Avon out again was not on the agenda.

"As you command, Fearless Leader."

"That joke is really getting old. You need some new material," Blake commented as he passed the other, heading for the distant rocks at a good clip. Maybe if Avon was out of breath, he'd have a chance to get in a remark without a snappish comeback.

They went on in silence for some time. The yellowish-brown grass was knee high, more than long enough to conceal snares for the unwary foot, so the going was slow. They wound up sweeping the grass aside with the muzzles of their guns, in order to avoid stumbling over roots, rocks and mounds of dirt created by some type of burrowing vermin.

The vermin weren't shy, either. They sat on top of their earth piles, whistling and slapping their stubby tails against the ground as the men approached, but they did not move. One of the bolder ones even ran forward and attacked Blake's booted foot. Blake cursed and shook his leg, but the little creature clung with sharp claws and continued to bite at the thick leather.

Avon laughed, enjoying Blake's predicament. "See the bold hero, laid low by a mouse." He lifted his gun slightly, aiming it at Blake's foot. "Shall I?"

"No, you bloody well won't!" Blake said, annoyed. He reached down and was about to grab the rodent by the back of its fuzzy little neck when it froze, wrinkled its tiny pink nose, squealed and fled. As if on cue, the rest of the rodents turned tail, ducking into their holes.

"Well, at least you can still impress the lower life forms," Avon remarked, still grinning at the rebel leader's loss of dignity.

"Quiet, Avon." Something was wrong. He could feel it.

"Yes, I know you'd like me to be quiet. I would make things much easier for you. Then you could tell me how wonderful life would be, if only I would give in to you." Avon was getting his back up, but Blake couldn't spare the time to soothe him.

"Avon!" Suddenly, he saw it. Behind Avon, a ripple in the grass. Too big a ripple to be caused by any number of the rodents. Blake snapped his gun up. "Behind you!"

Avon wasn't quite fast enough. The thing came up out of the grass, grabbed Avon by the left leg and started to drag him off. Avon screamed at the same instant Blake fired. He missed the animal, but the flash of light apparently hurt its small, piggy eyes, for it grunted and released its grip, only to snap at Avon's throat as he writhed on the ground.

It was fast, incredibly so for a creature with short, stubby legs ending in tough cloven hooves. It had a bristly coat the same color as the grass and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, including several pairs of wicked tusks. All this Blake remembered later. At the moment, he was trying to get a clear shot at it without hitting Avon. It kept throwing Avon around like a rag doll, stamping on him and his gun indiscriminately. Blake realized Avon would be dead in a few seconds unless he did something. He reached forward into the circling, screaming mass, and grabbed at random. He came up with something wiry and harsh resembling a length of poor quality rope. He pulled hard against the weighty, twisting object attached to his handful of 'rope'. Abruptly he fell back as the resistance ended. He landed hard, flat on his back, instinctively pulling his gun up. He fired just as a huge shape came between him and the bright sunlight. There was a furious hissing noise, and the creature landed on his chest, slashing wildly. He put his hands up before his face, and tried to fire again, but nothing happened. The animal made a liquid, bubbling sound, and collapsed.

Once over the initial shock, Blake began shoving at the animal. It rolled off him limply. "Avon?" Blake asked into the silence as he got to his knees and saw the other man crumpled, unmoving.

"Here," came the reply, hoarse with pain. "Don't!" Avon cried, when Blake reached out.

Blake stared, appalled. Although Avon's face was untouched, that was about the only part of him that was. "Liberator! Bring us up, now! Now, dammit!" He shook his teleport bracelet, and a large piece fell off. It had been shattered in the attack.

"Blake?" Avon asked thinly.

"Let me try your bracelet." Gently, Blake took Avon's arm, lifting it to reach the bracelet. It wasn't there. He tried the other arm, then the ground. He came up with a handful of pieces and sat there staring at them until Avon spoke again.

"What - time?"

Blake glanced at his chronometer. Ironically, that was in perfect condition. "Still more than twenty minutes before our first check-in. And it may be a little longer before they find us. You need attention now." He pulled off his shirt, and began ripping it into bandages.

With Blake's help, Avon sat up. He'd had the wind knocked out of him, and was scraped and gouged by the hooves, and had several nasty bites to his forearms, but the worst was the leg injury. Muscle on both sides had been slashed, and there was more than a hint of bone showing. Only by some miracle had no major blood vessel had been severed. Walking was out of the question. Blake packed the wound with several layers of shirting, then wrapped it round until no more blood showed through.

"Where's your gun?" he asked when he had done the best he could.

"There. And there," Avon pointed to the gun, lying several feet away from the powerpack. The connecting cord had been sliced in several places. Blake looked down at his own belt. He hadn't noticed, but much the same thing had happened to his. It looked hopeless, but he gathered up the pieces anyway. The guns were intact, but useless without power.

"We can't stay here," he told Avon. "There might be more of those things."

"What do you suggest?" Avon leaned heavily against Blake, accepting the support without acknowledging it.

"There. The rocks." Blake pointed in the direction they'd been heading.

"Oh, of course, the mission. The bloody, all-important mission." Avon laughed, a high-pitched sound verging on hysteria.

"Get hold of yourself." Blake grabbed Avon's shoulders, then released them when he saw Avon wince. "It's the nearest possible shelter." He wiped his bloody hands, then looked at Avon considering ways and means.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Would you rather stay here and die? Those mice seem to think it still isn't safe out." Blake pointed to the burrows, where not so much as a whisker showed. "And since we can't fit down their tunnels, we'll have to find our own hideaway. Away from here. That corpse is sure to draw more company than we want."

Avon looked sullen, but made no more complaints as Blake dragged him up to balance on his good leg, then maneuvered his shoulder into Avon's stomach and pulled him into a fireman's carry.

"This is undignified," was Avon's only comment as Blake's arms came around his legs to hold him in place.

Considering how painful it must have been, Blake admired the other man's restraint. He stood a moment, settling himself to the task, before starting out. He reached up with one hand to pat Avon gently on the ass. "You forget. I've seen you naked in my bed. Why stand on ceremony now?"

"I should like to forget that incident."

"But you can't? Good." Blake started walking. Avon was an awkward burden, and quite heavy, considering his slim build. "Keep your eyes open back there." 

"I hadn't thought I would be literally watching your back," Avon replied, his voice strained. Blake felt Avon's hands press against the bare skin of his back, as the other shifted enough to lift his head to observe the landscape receding behind them. "The view is not impressive."

"Just so it doesn't come at us with teeth and claws. That animal wasn't a predator, you know."

"No?" Avon mocked. "It seemed quite aggressive enough to me."

"It was an omnivore. An opportunist, like yourself. It went for us because we looked easy."

"I begin to dislike where this is heading."

"The true predators eat the omnivores."

"Wonderful."

"Here." Blake stopped, and looked around. "This is it." They had been almost to the edge of the grassland when the omnivore attacked. There had already been signs of the transition, areas with large patches of sparse grass and scattered boulders, but when Blake cleared a rise they were abruptly surrounded by slabs of rock, slanting out out of the barren ground at acute angles. Sometime in the past an earthquake had torn this land apart, leaving cracks, chasms, split and overturned rock formations in its wake. Many of the formations were crystalline and had sheered along natural fault lines, forming recognizable rectangles, truncated triangles, and squares. It looked as if an untidy giant had moved house and strewn his packing boxes everywhere.

"You can't carry me through that." A mountain goat would have been at home here. No two surfaces matched. Between one stride and the next, the ground often rose or fell several meters.

"No, but I don't have to. This should do." Blake lowered Avon to the ground. He had brought him to one of the larger formations in the vicinity; a huge rectangle of gray stone with random intrusions of crystals. The crystals varied, from barely visible splinters to head-sized chunks of amber yellow, sapphire blue, peridot green, or amethyst violet gems. He checked his chronometer. "We're ten minutes overdue, they should be here soon." His eyes followed the trail he'd made. On the barren stone he had left no footprints, but Avon's blood made a clear marker. That could mean trouble.

There was a deep cleft in the rock. Blake ducked in to check it out. Once inside the stone, he had expected it to be dark, but the roof of the cleft was composed almost entirely of varied crystals. The light came through in patches of vivid colors, bars of color so pure and bright they reminded him of something. Ah, now he had it, an illustration in a children's book. A young knight kneeling before an altar backed with a stained-glass window. He had been standing his vigil, the final step before being made a full-fledged knight. Blake shook his head, the last thing he needed on his mind now was medieval literature.

He went back for Avon. "The hole extends about three meters," he said. "Better than nothing."

Avon got to his good leg, and hobbled inside, evading Blake's attempted assistance. "Are you coming?"

"No. How will the others find us if I'm not out here to flag them down? Give me your gun. I might as well keep busy by trying to cobble the bits together." He ducked back into the niche.

Avon handed out his gun, staring hard at Blake as he did so. "You think something will get here before our rescuers."

"It's possible." Considering the trail of blood, it was more than possible. It was a wonder they hadn't been attacked on the way. Then again, while he was carrying Avon they probably appeared a formidable, two-headed monster to the local inhabitants.

Avon tightened his lips, making them even whiter than his pale, drawn face. He looked near fainting, and Blake reached out to grasp Avon by the upper arms. Watching Avon's suffering had never been pleasant, but now, having realized his love for the other man, it made him physically ill. As he'd always suspected, love was uncomfortable and inconvenient. But there was no one like his Avon. Avon would be worth it, worth everything, if only he could break out of his self-imposed prison. The body under his hands tensed, then relaxed, softening to accept Blake's support as he eased Avon down to a sitting position. "You're staying put. Remember, you promised to watch my back."

Avon cocked his head, and gave Blake a slight grin. That, and the fact that he did not immediately brush Blake's hands away, warmed the big rebel. Avon cared. Even if he still couldn't say it. Avon's next words confirmed it. Sick as he was, Avon's mind was always working, seeking ways to help them survive- ways to help Blake survive.

"In that case... while experimenting with Liberator handguns, I discovered that a energized gun will still have one charge left even when disconnected from its power source. My gun was fully charged, and I did not have an opportunity to fire it. But you'd better make that shot count. One is all you'll have."

"Thanks. I'll remember that." Blake smiled. When the chips were down Avon was on his side. For that matter, most of their really serious fights had concerned Blake's recklessness, and tendency to endanger his own life. Maybe that was part of Avon's problem with commitment. If you gave your whole heart and soul to someone and they died, what would be left for you?

"What are you grinning at? May I remind you we are in imminent peril?"

"Yes, Avon. Right again, Avon," Blake said tolerantly. He ducked back out of the crevice before Avon could flay him alive for his tolerance. His grin faded once he was outside. Something was coming. Something big and clumsy that knocked rocks loose and sent them skittering over the slope. He backed up until he was blocking the crevice with his body. He had a fleeting thought about crowding in with Avon, but he preferred the freedom to fight for his life.

He held Avon's gun tighter. Whatever it was, was approaching fast. The clatter of rocks was louder. With breathtaking suddenness, the animal came over the rise. Three times the size of the omnivore, it was infinitely more frightening. Its coat was barred and mottled in shades of brown and gray, blending in with the rocks. But nothing could disguise it at this range. It was vaguely feline, but short-legged and stocky, with a stub of tail clamped to its muscular haunches. It was snuffling, head down and nostrils flared, following the blood trail. It looked up, saw Blake, and crouched, squalling a battle cry that reverberated across the rocks. And was answered. Somewhere, not too far away, there was another of these creatures.

"What?" Avon yelled behind him, and the animal snarled, raising a well-clawed paw.

"Stay put!" Blake shouted. He leveled the gun. One shot only. Have to make it good. The animal charged without warning or change of pose. One second it was snarling, the next it was nearly upon him. Blake fired.

For all its size, it had less tenacity than the omnivore. It crumpled without a sound, outstretched foreleg bare inches from Blake's foot.

"What the..." Avon's voice came closer. He had crawled out of the crevice. "What was that thing?"

"Hungry." Blake toed the carcass. "Female. And it wasn't alone, so you'd better get back in there. Cally and the others will have heard the shot. They'll be along soon."

"Not soon enough?" Avon guessed, after a glance at Blake's face.

"Soon enough for you. Get back in there."

"Don't be ridiculous. What can you do bare-handed against a monster like that? Roll a boulder in front of the crevice and get out of here. While it wastes time trying to dig me out, you can meet the others and bring them back here."

Blake looked at Avon with wonder. "You know damn well I can't move a rock that will slow that thing's mate down for five seconds."

"Then just get out. They're following my blood; they'll be drawn here in packs. What's the sense of both of us dying?"

"I won't leave you. It was my fault you came down here in the first place. You didn't have a choice."

"No one held a gun to my head. I resent the implication that I have no mind of my own."

"Resent it all you like; I'm not leaving you." He turned at a scrabbling sound, then said, over his shoulder, "By your own logic, you should get back in there. You'll only be providing a second course."

"Maybe I just want to watch."

Blake grinned. He knelt to gather some stones. He might get lucky, and hurt it enough to drive it off. That is, provided it didn't crave revenge for its dead mate more than it minded pain.

"Look out!" Avon's shout made Blake look up just as the second cat charged. He brought up a handful of rocks and flung them. It screeched, and pawed at its face. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Blake shoved Avon back into hiding. "And stay there!" he shouted.

When he turned back, the cat had cleared the grit out of its eyes. It was wary now, and stood there screaming, showing a mouthful of teeth and a pale pink throat.

Something vulnerable about that pink throat reminded him of a frontier planet story he'd heard long ago. At the time, he thought it unlikely anyone had ever had the courage to do it, but he saw now, it wasn't courage. It was desperation in the face of sure death for your loved one.

Without pausing to consider what he was doing, Blake lunged forward, shoving his left fist toward that gaping pink maw. He screamed as the teeth slashed into him, but hung on, grimly forcing his arm further down its throat. Claws came up to rake at him, and he fell on top of the beast, forcing it on its side to the ground. The forelegs ripped at his chest, while he punched the furred face with his free hand. He was dragged several feet while the beast chewed his arm, gagged, and made horrible choking noises around his flesh. Finally it stopped and lay still, the great yellow eyes fixed and staring.

"Blake? My God, are you insane?" the harsh voice roused Blake from his stupor. He blinked. Avon had dragged himself to Blake's side and was prying the animal's jaws open.

"Get back," he said weakly. "Please, Avon."

"Shut up." Avon didn't look up from his work. "Incredible, thick-headed bastard." Avon sounded as if he were in tears. Blake tried to lever himself up for a look at Avon's face, but he had no strength left. Avon got the mangled arm free at last, but Blake didn't look at it. He was cold, and numb. Avon had taken off his belt and was tying a tourniquet on Blake's arm, just below the shoulder.

"Lost too much blood already. Why bother? Just so it'll look good when the others come?" Blake said, bitterness unexpectedly welling up inside him. He was dying for Avon, and his lover still couldn't show his true feelings.

"You sorry son-of-a-bitch. Damn you!" Avon was shaking. He turned and pressed his face against Blake's bare chest. "Damn you for dying on me."

Blake lifted his right hand, and stroked the back of Avon's neck. The harsh, racking noises Avon made could have been the product of rage, or madness, but there was no mistaking the warm, wet tears bathing Blake's wounds. "I'm sorry," Blake gentled his voice. "I should have known. That's the one thing you can't forgive, isn't it? That I'm human, and mortal."

"Everyone I've ever loved has died. I'm tired of it. Tired of being left behind." There was a long, gasping breath, then Avon continued, "but this time I won't be left behind."

"Get back, Avon," Blake said, realizing what Avon meant. "Hide. With three bodies to distract them, the animals won't bother with you. Not before the others come." He pushed feebly, fighting his desire to hold Avon to him, to keep him at his side until the end. But his lover wouldn't cooperate. Avon moved closer, wincing as his torn leg dragged across the rock-strewn ground.

Avon stank of sweat and blood. Not his usual fastidious self. But then, Blake was rather a mess, too, and shouldn't complain. Earlier, Avon had felt chilled to him. Now the other was hot. Or was it that Blake was cold? Either way, it was a comfort to feel the other pressed against him, closer than when they made love. Closer in soul if not in body.

"No." Blake felt the brush of Avon's hair, soft as silk, against him as the other shook his head. "I don't mean to distress you, but I won't. Not this time. I simply can't."

"Oh, Avon." Blake dropped his head against his lover. "I love you. Won't you live for me?" It would be easier to die, knowing that the one who truly shared his life would continue. Avon had learned to love once, perhaps he would love again. Blake felt a pang of jealousy, but subdued it. Avon should be happy; he deserved it. Blake almost regretted making Avon love him only to face the ultimate desertion. Blake was getting colder, and numb. He couldn't feel the rocks beneath him.

"I can't," Avon repeated. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I wouldn't have my heart in it. You can believe in causes, in masses of humanity. I've always been short-sighted in that regard. All I can see is the one person I care about."

"Avon?" The world was hazy, indistinct, hidden behind clouds of red. He would be leaving Avon soon. Leaving him. But would he? Surely, there was some mercy in the universe. They would meet again. Heaven, hell or the next life, he didn't care which. Just so he and Avon were together.

"I love you. There, are you satisfied?" Avon's words were broken, forced out against a throat choked with tears. Blake had never heard anything so sweet.

"Almost." With his last ounce of strength, he tried to express his feelings. His passion, and his determination. He'd never given up on Avon, and wasn't about to now.

Avon lifted his head and kissed Blake. It was the most tender, wonderful sensation Blake had ever felt. It was almost worth dying for, that kiss. He took that thought with him into the darkness.

 _We will die together,_ Avon thought, looking down on Blake's closed eyes. _At least we will not have died still angry at each other._ He huddled closer, wrapping his arms around Blake, trying to share his warmth.

Something was coming. But whatever it was, he wouldn't let it get Blake. After they were dead, he didn't really care whether the worms or the predators had their fill of them, but nothing would hurt Blake ever again. Not without going through Kerr Avon first. He picked up a handful of sharp shards of crystal and prepared to throw.

_Avon? Blake?_

"Cally!" Avon opened his hand, and let the bits fall. He was mildly surprised to note that he had cut his palm. "Here!" he shouted. "Hurry, Blake's dying."

With a scrabbling of rocks, Cally came, followed by Gan, Jenna and Vila. "Who's minding the ship?" Avon asked, as Cally snapped teleport bracelets onto him and Blake. He refused to loosen his grip even for that, so she had to reach over him to do it.

Vila was staring at the blood, Jenna was staring at his arms around Blake's bloody torso and Cally was busy, so Gan answered, "Orac. And he's not very happy about it."

"It," Avon corrected automatically. He was distracted, watching Cally check Blake's vital signs.

Jenna asked the question Avon hadn't the courage for, "Is he...?"

"He has lost a great deal of blood, but I think we are in time." Cally lifted her wrist. "Orac, teleport."

They had barely materialized in Liberator's teleport chamber when Cally said, "Gan, take Blake to the medical unit." She looked at Avon. "Will you be all right here until I can send Gan back for you?"

Avon nodded, but Cally hesitated. "Go! Don't waste time." Cally nodded, and ran after Gan.

"Well, don't just stand there," Avon said to Jenna and Vila, who were still rather stunned by events. "Help me."

"Cally said for you to stay here," Vila remarked.

"I didn't say I agreed. Jenna?"

Jenna gave Avon a long, considering look, then sighed, and tossed her long, blonde hair out of her way as she bent down to offer Avon her hand. "Come on, Vila. You know Avon. He'll have his way, no matter what."

Once verticality was achieved, Avon smiled at her. "I'm glad we understand each other."

Jenna wasn't happy, and she scowled at Avon to show it. "You understand me, Avon. If you ever do anything to hurt Blake again, I'll take it out of your hide in strips."

Avon shook his head. "Sorry. It isn't my hide anymore. I'm afraid I've mortgaged it. Along with my life, sanity and common sense."

"He's delirious," Vila decided. "Let's get him to Cally, so she can fix him up."

Smiling slightly, Jenna said, "I don't think Cally can cure what's wrong with Avon. I should know. I had the disease once, myself."

"Once?" Avon asked, softly.

She shrugged, which nearly precipitated Avon to the deck. "Sorry. I didn't say I'd gotten over it. Just learned to live with the symptoms."

"You're both delirious," Vila said. "Come on. Hop to it, Avon."

Avon spared Vila a glare, then sighed and hopped on his good leg, while they supported him on either side.

***

"Lie still, damn it."

"Avon?" Blake heard his own voice and didn't recognize it. He did recognize Avon's voice though, and tried to turn. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Wait. I'm coming." Avon limped into view, a heavy regenerator cast covering his left leg from knee to ankle. He was also paler than normal. Except for that, he looked wonderful.

Blake grinned. "We're not dead, Avon."

Avon touched a control at the side of Blake's bed that raised the head. He settled into a seat nearby, and let his hand rest on the surface of the bed, near enough for Blake to touch, purely by coincidence, of course. "You noticed. Apparently Cally's tracking skills are better than we gave her credit for."

"I'll have to remember that. On the next mission," Blake said, wickedly, to make Avon frown. To offset it, he laid his hand over Avon's, and was rewarded as the cool fingers laced into his. "Damn," he said as a thought occurred to him.

"What's the matter?" Avon asked, eyes flicking to the monitors. "Are you in pain?"

Blake shook his head. "The mission. We didn't get the crystals. We'll have to go back and..."

Avon held up his hand. "No. We are not going back there."

"But the crystals..."

Avon turned Blake's hand over. From the pocket of his tunic he produced a half dozen gleaming yellow gems. He placed the largest one in Blake's palm.

"From the crevice?"

Avon shrugged. "They were there. I was there. I never overlook an opportunity to make a profit. You know me."

"I'm beginning to." Blake handed back the gem, and watched as Avon carefully piled them on the bedside table. "But there will be other missions, Avon. There must be. And I can't promise to come back from every one," he warned.

Avon turned his face away from Blake for a moment, then sighed, and face his lover. "You had better try, though. Otherwise, I will be most displeased."

"I wouldn't want that."

"Then you know what to do." Avon moved closer to lay his head down on Blake's chest. "It's very simple, really. You stay alive, and you stay with me."

Blake ran his hand over Avon's head, and smiled, thinking about the two of them, together, really together. "Sounds good to me." He yawned suddenly. "Um, sorry."

"Rest. I'll be here." Avon pulled back to sit in the chair once more.

"Won't that be hard on your leg?" Blake said, hopefully patting the bed beside him. Avon looked tempted.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Doctor's orders. You're to have bed rest." He grinned. "But if you happen to come up with some good ideas while you're lying there, we can try them out after you've been certified fit."

"There have been a couple of Federation targets I've been considering..." Blake grinned when Avon raised a fist. "No, actually, I've been thinking; maybe Vila is right when he says we need a holiday. You pick the planet, Avon. Someplace where everyone will enjoy themselves."

"I had better check your medications. That doesn't sound like you. Rest, Blake," Avon repeated. "Or do I have to ask Cally to put you to sleep?"

"That won't be necessary. And you don't have to stay while I sleep."

"That's right. I don't have to. I want to. I want to watch you sleep, Blake. I didn't have the opportunity before." He sat with a defiant air, daring someone to make him move.

"I'd like to watch you," Blake confessed.

Avon frowned.

"Is that a problem?" Should have known, Blake thought. Avon's prickly about his privacy.

"Not for me," Avon replied. "However...you may find it more convenient to fall asleep before I do. And possibly consider some form of ear plugs."

"You snore." Blake was delighted. Not by the news, but by the way Avon imparted it, as if Blake had a right to know.

"I have been told so. Of course, I cannot say from personal experience."

"Hmmm. Well, we'll try it and see." Despite his best efforts, Blake's eyelids were creeping closed. He blinked once more. It was odd, but seeing Avon sitting there in his black leather, he was reminded of his dream, days ago. What if he'd tried to befriend the black knight? Would there have been a human face under that helmet, a human heart under that armor?

He sighed. Maybe the black knight was tired too, tired of being a blank shield, with allegiance to none. Maybe his black knight...

 

Avon looked closely. Blake had finally given up the fight and was asleep. He checked the monitors once more and stretched out his bad leg, wincing. Blake was right. The leg was going to be a bloody nuisance. But he didn't care. Blake would wake and everything would be different. He felt as if he were starting a new life, purged of all sins. _Well, maybe not quite all sins,_ he thought, with a lascivious leer. He made a minor adjustment to the angle of Blake's bed, and began his vigil.


End file.
